


give me toothaches (just from kissing me)

by golden_redhead



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, Lies, M/M, Non-Explicit, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Post-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Trust Issues, Truth, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 16:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18832243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: It’s a matter of principle.In the end, it doesn’t matter whether he agrees with Momota or not. He’s not meant to agree with him so he doesn’t.Ouma wears his lies like an obnoxious crown, shining and fancy, meant to attract attention and paint him as the liar he is from the moment he opens his mouth. His truths, though? Oh, those are his greatest lies, a truth in a lie’s clothing, a perfect disguise. Lying is easy when all people expect from you are lies. You can drop the most obvious truth on them and they will never recognize it for what it truly is.





	give me toothaches (just from kissing me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ktfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktfics/gifts).



> For @kggelen because I love your writing and I think you should enjoy this sad little thing. Stay awesome!
> 
>  
> 
> -  
> For some reason I'm really terrified of posting this. I haven't posted a new fic in some time and I'm really sorry about that but real life's been... really challenging in the last few weeks. First, my depression made a big come back, after that I ended up in a hospital because of some problems with my stomach. In the meantime, I had a few mental breakdowns and now I'm just. So tired. All of that made it pretty hard to write but I really wanted to finish it and have something new to post. I hate feeling unproductive, y'know?

Momota’s love is addictive, all-consuming and unapologetic.

 

It’s like a flame that burns everything in its way, bright and hot but also weirdly welcoming, chasing away the dark.

 

Making love to him is the quintessence of everything that makes Momota who he is. It’s passionate, warm and surprisingly considerate and in a way Ouma hates every second of it.

 

He turns something as simple as fucking into a performance of trust and vulnerability and honestly... is there anything more disgusting than that?

 

Ouma isn’t interested in any of this.

 

Trust, sincerity, friendship - all of these are just empty words and even emptier concepts and Ouma has no interest nor need to pretend that they’re anything other than just some bittersweet lies or haunted ramblings of a madman. Momota can fool himself all he wants, he can fool everyone around him, but if he thinks even for a second that he can fool Ouma then he’s even more delusional that he thought he was and that’s saying something. Maybe he would have believed in all that once. Who knows, it’s not like a killing game - real or not - is all that conducive to building a sense of trust and faith. Still, nowadays he’s a bit too cynical for all that and he wasn’t doing much better before any of it happened. It’s always been Momota’s forte and Ouma - like a good foil, antagonist and resident asshole - stands in opposition to everything Momota believes in. And he’s good at it, too. He strives for nothing less than perfection, a pitch black darkness to Momota’s warm, bright flame. It’s an easy game, really, as long as he does or says the exact opposite of anything that Momota does or says. But like with most games, it gets boring after a while, and Ouma finds himself playing more out of routine than anything else; practiced lies and jabs and insults rolling off his tongue easily like it was second nature.

 

It’s a matter of principle.

 

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether he agrees with Momota or not. He’s not _meant_ to agree with him so he doesn’t, twisting truths into lies and sprinkling the already existing ones with even more lies.

 

In a twisted, unexpected way Momota doesn’t expect him to be anything other than who he is, whatever that even means. He’s probably the only person here who - weirdly enough - seems to accept this lie that he is. Apparently that’s what a life and death situation can do to a person. Who knew!

 

Obviously, if it was up to Momota he probably would have attempted to mold Ouma into what he would call a better version of him, someone just as willing to wear his heart on his sleeve like he does. Someone honest. Someone reliable.

 

It’s a laughable vision.

 

But other than frustrated eye rolls and occasional fiery speeches about the power of friendship or some other bullshit Momota leaves him to his own devices and although suspicious, Ouma is also somewhat grateful. It’s like a breath of fresh air after all those expectant stares of the fans who analyze his every step, every intake of breath and therapy sessions during which others share their deepest, darkest secrets and he just stares out of the window and thinks about how easy it would be to climb down and disappear in one of the dark alleys. _I could live with the rats_ , he thinks with a giggle that turns into a loud cackling as soon as the therapist directs her disapproving glare at him and asks him to share what’s so funny with the rest of the group in that snippy voice of hers.  

 

It’s during one of their boring, painfully pointless group therapy sessions that one thing becomes more apparent than ever.

 

Momota is a liar.

 

A far more skilled liar than Ouma originally thought him to be. The thing is, Momota’s best lies are the ones he’s unaware of, the ones he would never call lies himself. Maybe this is exactly what makes them so good, maybe it’s because he so genuinely believes them to be true, no matter how poorly crafted or how painfully transparent they are. Momota wants to believe in them so badly that at times even he forgets the difference between the truths and lies. And isn’t that what truly makes a liar? It’s all about this thin, almost non-existent line that separates the lie from truth and Ouma’s learned how to dance along that line until it becomes all blurry.

 

Lies are easy.  

 

Obvious lies, white lies, half-lies, compulsive lies… There are so many different kinds of lies and he knows them all the same way that any good expert knows their respective field. And he knows a good liar when he sees one.

 

It’s funny - real fucking hilarious, even - how similar he and Momota are. The only real difference is intent. Ouma wears his lies like an obnoxious crown, shining and fancy, meant to attract attention and paint him as the liar he is from the moment he opens his mouth. His truths, though? Oh, those are his greatest lies, a truth in a lie’s clothing, a perfect disguise. Lying is easy when all people expect from you are lies. You can drop the most obvious truth on them and they will never recognize it for what it truly is. Even Saihara, the ever-reliable detective fell for the trap and Ouma does his best to ignore the pang of disappointment he had at the memory of it.

 

Fucking Momota - not love, it’s never love - is easy.

 

It’s almost as easy as lying. Maybe even easier.

 

Moan here, thrust there and for a few blissful seconds he can almost forget that those are the hands that carried him to his death roaming over his body, he can forget that once upon a time all they could offer him was a punch to the face.

 

But maybe that’s a lie, too.

 

Maybe that’s _exactly_ why it’s oh-so-appealing, maybe that’s exactly why it’s Momota and not some wannabe detective with an ugly hat and an even uglier inferiority complex.

 

Maybe this is what makes Momota easier to be around than anyone else.

 

But even then, at the end of the day, Momota is just a good fuck, a pleasant distraction.

 

And if his arms sneak around Ouma’s smaller frame when everything is said and done and he presses feather-like kisses to his eyelids and nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck, his breath hot and close and familiar… It’s not Ouma’s responsibility to protect Momota’s precious little heart for him, he’s a grown man for god’s sake. Whatever delusions Momota chooses to indulge in - they are hardly Ouma’s problem.

 

If Momota chooses to remain blind to it and believe in some flimsy make-believe relationship then that’s on him. It’s not like Ouma ever let him think there’s anything more to it. It’s superfluous for him but maybe for Momota it’s different, maybe he can enjoy fucking him only if he coats it with a heavy layer of thinly knitted hopes that there’s more to Ouma than lies.

 

Still, Momota’s gentle, caring touches are almost nice, as long as he ignores the burning imprint of his fingers when they caress his skin tenderly, almost lovingly. It is almost as nice as it is disgusting. Only Momota could convince himself that Ouma is anything other than a monster that he is and in a typical Momota fashion he set to prove it to the world, whether Ouma wants it or not.

 

Momota’s love is dangerous.

 

It’s a threat to Ouma’s walls, a threat to his carefully crafted game of pretend if only because of Momota’s insistence alone. Ouma’s seen how Harukawa’s and Saihara’s walls crumbled as if they were never there and even though he’s aware that it won’t be quite as easy in his case, he’s far from being stupid enough to underestimate Momota. What makes Momota so dangerous is how unpredictable he is, blinded by his own good intentions because they are easier to chase than the truth he tries to escape.

 

All of that makes Momota a nuisance.

 

The worst kind of nuisance.

 

He refuses to let go and ever since they left the game he’s been even more determined than ever before, a constant presence somewhere nearby. Maybe it’s Ouma’s own fault for pursuing him at nights but can you blame him when Momota’s proven so many times to be the best distraction around here. The sterile white walls of the hospital and the nurses’ saccharine sweet smiles dripping with pretend concern started to make Ouma nauseous as soon as he regained his consciousness and could think through the initial haze of pain overtaking his senses. Ever since then, it’s been a constant game of hide and seek for him, hours upon hours spent in the shadows, mastering his disappearing act whenever a doctor, nurse or one of the other participants of the fifty-third season came into sight.

 

They make it easy to disappear.

 

Ouma is the piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit in anywhere and it is easier to get rid of him altogether rather than keep trying to push him into a frame he clearly doesn't fit. He’s a lost cause and the sooner everyone realizes that, the sooner he’ll be left in peace. Once he’s left in peace maybe he’ll know how to feel again.

 

With Momota sometimes he can almost trick himself into feeling again.

 

Momota’s hands are his favorite kind of sin and unlike many others it’s the one that comes with no strings attached. The only problem is that sometimes he isn’t quite sure if Momota’s just as aware of it as he is.

 

So every other night he sneaks out of his room just to feel those big rough hands on his hips, grip strong enough to leave an intermittent string of bruises, all red and purple hues. It’s fast and hard and almost bordering on painful and it’s just the way Ouma likes it. It’s only when Momota gives in to the pleasure for long enough to forget about being gentle that he can truly enjoy himself, the whole world limited purely to the physical sensation that drowns out any unwelcome sounds or images. It’s then that he no longer hears Iruma’s futile, wheezing struggles as she desperately tries to pry away the coils of toilet paper from her thin neck. It’s then that no longer sees Gonta’s gentle eyes shining with pain and tears when one of the bugs he loved oh-so-much pierces straight through him and the vibrant pink blood splashes on the sand under their feet.

 

It’s Momota’s lips that chase it all away, leaving him gasping for more, fingers grasping at the promise of oblivion, even if it’s just a moment, even if that’s not meant to last. He makes him desperate, aching for something that remains just barely out of reach.

 

It doesn’t help that Momota is so infuriatingly considerate.

 

Something as small as a whimper is enough for his hips to still, lust evaporating from his eyes, replaced with concern, guilt and other vile things.

 

Ouma hates when he does that, hates it when his eyes turn all soft around the edges and his sharp, decisive thrusts transform halfway through into a caress and he holds him in his arms like he’s some kind of precious, fragile thing. Something breakable. Silly Momota-chan, if the hydraulic press didn’t manage to crush him for good then surely he must be invincible. He ruled the game as if it’s been his own after all, hadn’t he? Is Momota-chan never gonna learn? Ouma is the villain in this story - something Shirogane openly admitted, although it’s not like anything she says has any kind of value - and there is no point in pretending otherwise, even if for some reason Momota really, really wants to.

 

No matter how many times he says it, Momota refuses to accept this simple truth and with a sense of bitter amusement Ouma thinks that for someone who demands honesty all the time Momota is very bad at actually receiving it.

 

Sometimes it hurts.

 

Momota’s love is the kind of thing that is simply too intense to be contained, a force to be reckoned with. Ouma doesn’t think he deserves it in the slightest and he definitely doesn’t _need_ it but it’s not like anything as negligible as a word of protest ever stopped Momota when he set his eyes on the goal. It’s like he sees something beyond what Ouma sees, something beyond what Ouma knows he _i_ s.

 

Ouma isn’t sure what it is that Momota sees when he looks at him and in a way maybe it’s better that way. Momota’s useful - he’s always been, that’s the only reason why it couldn’t have been anyone else in that hangar - and it’s one truth he chooses to focus on.

 

Because the truth is… sometimes Ouma can’t lie.

 

Sometimes he lets Momota’s hands roam over his body, brush against every crook and curve in that sickeningly addictive way he always does, his hot breath ghosting over the sickly pale skin. His grip is strong and his kisses are sweet, sweet enough to give Ouma a toothache or maybe even diabetes while he’s already at it. He kisses like a person who is trying to prove something and whatever it is that he’s trying to prove Ouma doesn’t like it. Knowing him, it’s something dumb and that’s all he needs to know, thank you very much.

 

There are nights when Momota’s kisses taste like forgiveness and almost despite himself Ouma clings to him with impatient urgency, hands tugging at the unruly strands of purple hair and at the tight shirt that hugs Momota’s body _just right_ , fumbling with the buttons when all he wants to do is free them both from their clothes and _feel_. He leaves no room for subtlety and after a moment of concerned hesitance - there’s always this moment, no matter how many times they’ve done that - Momota follows his lead, clumsily at first until slowly, steadily he gains more confidence. His hands explore Ouma’s body with care and curiosity that make Ouma snort and roll his eyes, make the bile raise to his throat.

 

It’s a constant clash of Ouma’s urgent, desperate need for something rough, something _real_ against Momota’s easy, selfless comfort that demands nothing in return.

 

But that’s just another lie, isn’t it?

 

If there’s one thing Ouma knows about the world, a lesson he’s had to learn over and over again, it’s that everything comes with a price.   

 

Sooner or later - _sooner than later_ \- Momota will realize the reality of their situation (the reality of his feelings) and like any good hero he’ll expect the prize Ouma doesn’t intend to give him.

 

It’s not Momota’s fault, not really.

 

Human nature is a pesky little thing and Ouma knows it better than anyone else. Momota’s just one of its many victims. Ouma can promise that he won’t hold it against him.

 

After all, a little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's an idea I've been playing with for some time now and one that I intend to explore more in the future. It is supposed to feel a little like a stream of consciousness which is why some fragments or transitions may be a bit confusing. I wanted to focus more on the feeling of the text than on the plot or anything specific. I know it's probably not everyone's cup of tea but I find this kind of writing weirdly de-stressing, hah!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and don't hesitate to leave a few words if you did!


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